Little Red
by littlestrangesoul
Summary: Maybe, in a more twisted version of the story, Little Red Riding Hood walks through the fading forest with more purpose than anticipated. Maybe she wouldn't mind being devoured. Beth/Daryl
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I've had this running around in my head for a long time. Probably going to be more than a one-shot, because these two are just my favorites. Please read and review! (This doesn't mean I'm necessarily done with Trails, but I just had to see what y'all thought of this one!)

* * *

"You know you ain't going to be able to wear that while we hunt."

They are scavenging. Or, well, he's scavenging. She's running her fingers over old photos, plinking piano keys, and shuffling through closets. It's funny how differently they see the same thing. He sees survival and safety, and she sees fragments of a life ended too soon.

"I know, too bright right? But I need somethin' warm and it's been so long since I've owned anything this comfortable."

She's holding an overly large sweatshirt, running her fingers over the soft cotton fabric. It's a jarring red – a color he's never seen her wear – but she's holding it up to herself in the mirror like it already belongs to her.

"Fine", he says, unable to deny her much of anything these days. "But you're the one carrying it."

She makes a little face, scrunching her nose in his direction. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," she murmurs, brushing her way past him as she continues exploring the house. He follows her up the stairs, eyes guiltily drawn to the curve of her ass and arm tingling from where she touched him.

They decide to stay in the house for the night, both too tired to turn down a real bed and miraculously running water. Daryl is terrified of traps these days, but this house isn't close to picturesque and he's checked every door and window twice. He settles in uneasily, and lets Beth take the first shower. He can hear her squeal when the water comes out freezing, and he can't help but chuckle. Only Beth Greene would still be surprised by that.

He makes a conscious effort to ignore the sound of running water and decides what he really needs is a good book. Preferably one with simple language. No winding metaphors about soft skin or pale legs or golden hair. He hears enough of that in his own idiotic brain. He peruses the small bookshelf eagerly, creating a mantra in his head of the worn titles to block out the sound of her soft singing. "_This'll do_," he thinks, snatching one off the shelf as Beth dives into a particularly interesting song about love.

Daryl's pretty immersed in his book when he hears laughter from the bottom of the stairs. His eyes snap up, and almost immediately dart back down again.

"Hemingway, huh?" Beth laughs, walking over to the couch opposite him and sinking down. "It makes sense you would pick him – all masculine and short with his words. Y'all have some things in common." She's smirking at him, tucking her long legs underneath her.

Her bare long legs.

He thinks he might be smirking back at her, but he's not really sure. All he can think about are her thighs and calves and the sharp curve of her ankle bone. All he can see is the slope of her shoulder, peeking out from her too-big bright red sweatshirt. Her hair is wet, sticking to the side of her neck and Hemingway is completely forgotten in his lap.

He's shocked out of his stupor when he hears a low growl. Immediately his eyes are searching for the source of the noise, and he's a little concerned that Beth doesn't seem the least bit afraid. Instead, her eyes seem darker and there's a blush climbing up the fair skin of her neck. And she's staring right at him.

It clicks immediately, and Daryl can feel his own blush burning his cheeks.

"_Oh_," he thinks, dazed and more than a bit mortified. "_That was me._"

...

It's strange - the fairy tales always paint Little Red Riding Hood as entirely innocent. They never think of just how _hard _things are for the Big Bad Wolf. So hungry and desperate, longing for just a single taste. And here's Little Red, skipping her way right through _his _forest, too tempting to ignore. Maybe, in a more twisted version of the story, Little Red walks through the fading forest with more purpose than anticipated. Maybe she wouldn't mind being devoured.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **I FINALLY UPDATED THIS THING GAHHH! I was really waiting to feel inspired to write this again, and I think I'm back in the groove with this one. Y'all have given me some amazing feedback, thanks so much for reading! Just a warning: Beth is not a seductress. I think she is quickly realizing she is capable of it, but it's not natural for her or entirely intentional. I want to write the characters as true to the show as possible, and I think it's almost better to have a Beth who is still naive and innocent in a number of ways. It makes Daryl's attraction more organic and honestly, sexier. This is why the theme of Little Red in the first chapter and now a childlike game of chase in this one - Beth's still very much tied to fairy tales and being young, but is CLEARLY growing up and moving into new territory, changing the way she sees them.

Anyway, PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!

* * *

As a little girl, she had loathed chasing her siblings around the farm. She was too small and they were much bigger and braver, running into the dark forest at night while she had firmly planted her feet, calling after them "Daddy said not to!" She had decided at the age of ten that this game was just no fun at all – it left her alone, watching the people she loved fade from view.

Beth Greene is all grown up, and she understands now why Maggie and Shawn had loved it so much, why they had insisted on running from one another as fast as their skinny legs would carry them. It was the thrill of the chase. The adrenaline right before the person behind you caught up. The sound of their footsteps and the push in your limbs to move just a _little _bit faster, to make the game last. She realizes now, at the age of eighteen, that she's never really been chased before. She's always halted anyone who made a run for her, holding people at arm's length before allowing a slow approach. Beth was cautious like that.

She hadn't understood she was in the game from her childhood until the buzzer had already gone off – until she was staring into the face of a man who had been running after her the entire time. It had been so inconspicuous, she almost hadn't noticed. Had attributed the swooping low in her stomach to moonshine and the look on his face to innocent gratitude.

But now he's growling at her bare legs and big blue eyes and she's realizing that this time, she's the one running through the trees in the twilight, blood singing as she anticipates the end of the chase. He's close on her heels now; seemingly terrified that he's let his position be known, face bewildered by his own transparency.

Beth can't help but blush. She also can't help but bite back a laugh. Because quite suddenly, she's no longer the little girl refusing to follow braver souls into the dark. She's the one charging ahead, muscles already tightening at the thrill of the chase – or rather, the anticipation of finally being caught.

She's changed her mind. She loves this game.

...

It's the next morning. He had slept downstairs to "guard" the door, but Beth knew it was because he simply didn't want to be near her right now. She had let his _animalistic_ tendencies go, faking exhaustion and watching as his face had returned to its normal shade, understanding not to push him.

She had kept the sweatshirt on though. She never said she was a saint.

Daryl had gone on a hunt after declaring the house suitable for a longer stay than originally anticipated. She's glad for it, subconsciously settling in. She likes it here, especially in the kitchen. There's only one window that isn't boarded up, and she's looking out it now, watching the sun rise through the stained glass. Her bare feet feel good on the tile floor and that's enough to make her happy in a simple way she hasn't felt in a long time.

Beth hears the footsteps before he probably intended her to, whirling around to face him – hands behind his back, leaning against the doorway. Daryl seems mildly impressed by her instincts, and a bit bashful at being caught.

"Hey."

"Hey," Beth grins easily as she watches his eyes travel down her legs before coming up to reach her face.

"Gotcha somethin'," he muttered, focusing his attention on the floor, hand jutting out awkwardly in the space between them.

She had a plan. She wanted to be alluring, charming – she wanted him to look at her the way he did last night. But that all went out the window at the sight of his outstretched hand. Instead she's bouncing on the balls of her feet gleefully, snatching his gift from his hands within seconds.

"An apple?! Where did you find this?!" Beth can't believe it. It's been so long since she's enjoyed fresh fruit – or fresh anything really. She can't help but beam at him, more child-like in her joy than she would care to admit.

"Found a tree planted not far from here, looks like there was quite a garden at one point. Picked up a few things, caught some squirrels," Daryl says, holding up his prize with a grin. _"It's a good day,"_ she can't help but think – nice house, real food, and Daryl Dixon smiling at her. She's hesitant to break the spell with words, so instead she's rolling up her sleeves and taking a large bite of her treat, nearly groaning at the sweet taste she had so sorely missed. Oh, how she had loved apples. She can feel the juice running down her chin, but Beth can't bring herself to care. She's aware of his careful eyes watching her, still gleaming with pride at having made her so happy. And that kind of stare she can handle.

...

It's only when the apple is eaten to the core and she's licking the last bit of juice off the inside of her wrist that she feels a shift in his stare. Her eyes flicker up to meet his, watching warily as his gaze traces the path of her tongue along the pale, sensitive skin just above her pulse point. And suddenly, she feels it again – the anxiousness in her limbs, the fluttering of her heart against her rib cage. Anticipation.

And as he takes an involuntary step towards her, eyes hooded and hand outstretched, Beth Greene can think only one thing.

The chase is on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Finally updating! Thank y'all so much for your positive words and encouragement! This is probably my "sexiest" story, and therefore the hardest for me to write. It does not come naturally to me at all. But it's easier with characters like Beth and Daryl, who are so good together. I'm not sure if I should continue this or not, we'll see. But please, as always, READ AND REVIEW!

* * *

Beth had read a story once as a young girl about an author who hated using the word "kiss". She was always trying to find different ways to phrase it because she wanted to use the world sparingly. Because even the word itself was important. Because a kiss was never just a kiss – it held meaning. Beth had blushed furiously while reading because, well, it was about _kissing_.

As she subconsciously licks the last flecks of juice off her lips, Beth feels a flash of envy towards this author from her past. Her own brain is entirely uncreative when it comes to descriptors at this moment. It's running on a frequency she can't decipher and only one word is making any sort of sense in her distracted mind.

_Kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss._

She's not sure if it's a want or a demand or a spell.

...

When he was a child, he used to imagine that he had magical powers. That he could fight off his father and the monsters under his bed with his abilities and that he would finally be safe. He would be healed. Eventually, as so many dreams of his went, that notion was beaten out of him by cruel words and a strong hand.

But, after so many years, he's reconsidering the notion of spells and dreams. Because he's really not intending to walk closer to her – to use his hand to brush a stray hair off her neck. And if he's not doing it himself then it must be magic brought on by her eyes and her tongue and he had read somewhere once about what dangers apples could cause.

The crackling of electricity under his fingertips where he's touched her makes him feel both young and old at once. His younger self is cheering – _it's magic, it's magic, it's magic!_ His older self is cautious, watching her for any sign that he should stop. That he should deny whatever this thing is between them. But her eyes are big and trusting, filled with just as much anticipation as his, and she looks delicious in that same overlarge red sweatshirt.

Unable to control himself any longer, Daryl's bending his head down to brush his lips with hers.

...

It's fireworks and falling and Christmas morning and summer rain. It's quite possibly the end of her world and yet the light behind her eyelids remind Beth of sunrise. It's _kissing_. His mouth is eager and searching, creating a delicious friction against hers that sends shock-waves down to her toes. Her body is winding itself around his, hands finding purchase in his shaggy hair. When his mouth leaves hers, she can't help but give a little tug, sliding the strands around her fingers in slight annoyance. Where was he going? They were _kissing_.

But then Daryl is pushing her up against the counter, placing open mouthed kisses to the column of her throat while his calloused hands find her hip bones, pushing up her sweatshirt and finding purchase in the pale skin there. And Beth's never read about this in any book, but she suddenly understands what to do. It might be growing up or instinct or Daryl, but her legs are wrapping around his hips and this time she's the one letting out a low growl, hands eagerly unbuttoning his shirt with shaking fingers.

He pulls away just slightly at the sound, and she takes advantage of this pause to slide his flannel off his shoulders. It's only when they makes eye contact that Beth blushes. She knows what she must look like right now. Sweatshirt hiked up around her waist, hair curling wildly around her face. Pulse erratic and seemingly in every part of her body at once. Eyes hungry, feral even. Hands, even in her embarrassment, running up and down his toned stomach, fingers dancing against every bit of flesh they can find.

It's the look in Daryl's eyes that reassures her. Because it's just as hungry, just as eager, just as wild as she feels. And as she presses her hips purposefully into his, relishing the way his eyes darken in response, she feels for the first time that she's not sprinting through the forest alone, waiting on a shadow to catch her. She's not a little girl watching others fade away from her into the dark. Instead, Daryl Dixon is lifting that damn sweatshirt over her head and they are off and running – this time, side by side.


End file.
